


Scattered starlight

by zetsubooty



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Blow Jobs, Drabble Collection, Drunk Sex, Frottage, M/M, Masturbation, Nipple Play, casual abuse of metaphors, is this becoming like a Thing with me, mild tho
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-15
Updated: 2016-11-13
Packaged: 2018-08-22 12:44:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8286286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zetsubooty/pseuds/zetsubooty
Summary: a place to post yoi drabbles, startin off with some victuri onsen smut bc that's how I roll B)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> when is this happening? why is Yuuri drinking in excess if he's supposed to be getting in shape? how long until I find out I'm wrong and he's actually nearsighted? what is with that random fountain thing in the middle of the onsen it seems like a hazard? I AM ATTEMPTING TO EMBRACE NOT KNOWING 8D

Yuuri doesn’t know quite how they ended up here.

Well, that’s not entirely true: there’s a bruise on his right arm and a stubbed toe that make it hard to forget their staggering “sneaking” across the house. The feel of Victor draped heavy on his shoulder, filling Yuuri with a fire that’s more than body heat. If he hadn’t been drunk, he’d probably have run the second Victor slapped an arm around his shoulders, wouldn’t even have waited for his grinning suggestion that they sneak into the onsen.

He glances over where Victor is leaning on his elbows at the side of the pool, shoulders relaxed and the slope of his back a pale blur disappearing in the darkness of the water.

_ I don’t know if I’m grateful for drunk!me’s choices or not. _

Yuuri realises he’s been staring a little too long and turns away quickly, heat rising to his cheeks. The movement attracts attention, though, and he can feel Victor’s eyes on him like something tangible. Or maybe that’s just wishful thinking, intense enough to fool his body into that prickle of awareness between his shoulder blades.

“Why you’re hunching up like that?”

Startled, Yuuri garbles out, “What?”

“God, for such a squishy guy, you’re real uptight.” Victor punctuates his comment by sliding closer on the ledge and prodding him in the side. Yuuri squirms away, finally letting himself look at Victor’s face. Victor’s very, very close face, cheeks flushed and his bangs sticking to his forehead and sake on his breath.

Before Yuuri can decide whether he wants to die or kiss him, Victor grabs him by the shoulders, twisting him in the water.

“Here. As your coach, I’ll take care of this,” he pronounces, patting Yuuri on the shoulder.

“Wait, that’s kind of…” Victor drags his palms down his back and suddenly Yuuri’s having trouble thinking of any objections that don’t involve confessing the way his dick twitches against his thighs.

“‘M not expert at this, but I know a little.” He smooths his thumbs out from Yuuri’s spine, making his way back up.

He’s spent so much of his life studying Victor, studying every gesture and every toned inch of his body, his strength shouldn’t surprise him. The focused translation of movement into pressure, sharp push or long, gentle stroke, into delicious sensation between his shoulderblades and up towards his neck again and Yuuri realises his nails are digging into his leg.

Victor’s voice is close, almost in his ear. “You’re just getting more tense.”

“Not on purpose!” He splashes and flails away inelegantly, twisting so he can see Victor. Which is a mistake, probably, letting himself look at his teasing pout and the way he’s leaning into the space he’s just vacated. Almost eagerly.

“What am I gonna have to do to get you to relax?”

_ Is this a language barrier thing? Doesn’t he realise how suggestive that sounds?? _ “I’m plenty relaxed! Besides,” Victor’s lurching closer, “didn’t you want me to take things more seriously?”

“Eh?” Victor wrinkles his nose as if considering it. “Didn’t mean…didn’t mean…” His attention seems to wander, gaze dropping lower than Yuuri’s eyes.

He has the urge to look down, try and see what could possibly be worth looking at. But he’s mesmerised by the look on Victor’s face, by the focus cutting through the haze of alcohol and steam and darkness. He seems luminous, a silver moon come down to bathe him in his light, close, closer, until he’s suffused with his blurry glow.

Yuuri is abruptly very aware of how little space separates them. Not even the minimal barrier of glasses, no, they were discarded somewhere between the end of dinner and that last ill-advised drink.

“Would it surprise you if I kissed you right now?”

“Wha…?”

Victor sways back. A blink, a subtle change in expression Yuuri can’t analyse right now because his brain is drunkenly grappling with the words  _ if I kissed you _ .

“Well, I kinda ruined a surprise, didn’t  I?” Victor flops back, laughing, and just like that it seems ridiculous that he’d thought anything would happen. “Then again, the situation’s kinda obvious anyway.” His eyes slit open, catching Yuuri’s in a sidelong glance. “Draggin’ you here after we’ve been drinking, gettin’ you all naked and vulnerable--”

“I’m not!” Embarrassment burns through him at the assertion.

“Howzzat?”

“I mean I’m not…” He gropes for the words. “‘M not some kinda innocent.”  _ What am I getting myself into? _

“Oh?” Victor seems thoroughly amused. “So show me.”

He’s freezing up, of  _ course _ he’s freezing up, even though he’s practically got a signed invitation, Victor staring at him expectantly with laughter curling at the corners of his lips and what if this is just a joke? There’s so much he still doesn’t know, not about the  _ real _ Victor Nikiforov.

Screaming internally, Yuuri lurches forward.

And smacks his nose into Victor’s cheekbone.

Laughter erupts from Victor, and Yuuri wishes fervently that the bottom of the onsen would give way and swallow him into the abyss.

“What the hell was  _ that? _ They don’t know how to kiss in Japan?”

“I can’t see! And I’m pretty sure you moved.” At least it feels like he’s in on the joke--

“More excuses. Here, I’ll show you.” Victor seizes one of his shoulders but the fingers of his other hand are so delicate under his chin, tipping his face up ever so slightly as he leans in and all Yuuri can think is  _ has he been reading a bunch of shoujo? _ before lips press against his own.

But there’s nothing of innocent romance in this, in the tongue teasing at his lips, in Victor’s hand dropping to squeeze his hip, or the way he crowds into Yuuri’s space, planting one knee between his on the ledge.

_ Touch him! Touch him, already! _

Victor murmurs against his lips, “So you can kiss, at least.”

All Yuuri can summon in response is a tight noise, his brain still scrambling to catch up.

“You ‘kay?” Victor leans back enough to look at him, face gone from sultry focus to goofy concern in an instant.

Yuuri blinks at him for a second. Then snorts out a laugh. “Yeah.” He wants to reach out, slip his arms around him, but it still seems too good to be true. “Yeah, I’m good.”

“Good.” Victor smiles broadly. “Then how ‘bout you stop lying there like a deflated balloon?”

Yuuri flushes, but the message is clear: if there’s a way to mess up here, it’s through inaction.

“Come  _ on _ , Yuuri.”

Nerves still curl in his stomach but he pushes forward anyway, winds his arms around Victor’s waist and pulls him closer. Victor grips his shoulders, swinging his leg over so he’s straddling his lap and his dick brushing Yuuri’s stomach as he settles in. Yuuri breathes out a soft noise.

_ This isn’t just a kiss, is it? _

Before he can follow the thought further than the drive to rub his dick against Victor, his mouth is on him again. Yuuri slaps his hands higher up his back, dragging them back down and making Victor grind down against him with a pleased hum. Yuuri parts his lips, taking Victor’s lower lip between his own, and lets himself rock his hips up to follow Victor. His dick brushes the underside of his ass and Yuuri takes a sharp breath, wanting to hide his face. But no, no, Victor’s kisses are too much sharp sweetness to give up, his hands sliding down to squish Yuuri’s sides, drag over his stomach and tease just above his groin.

Yuuri cringes, waiting for a cutting jab. That doesn’t come. Just Victor rocking in his lap and breathing uneven against his cheek.

“...No comment?”

Victor strokes his thumb over his hip. “About what?”

He’s regretting saying anything. “Not gonna call me a little piggy?”

Sitting back, Victor considers him seriously. “What I want for you as athlete has jack all to do with what I like.” He squeezes his calves against Yuuri’s thighs, reaches down between them to wrap his fingers around his dick briefly and then slip away.

Yuuri pulls a face. “You could be a bit gentler about it.”

Victor glances down between them. “That was too rough?” He sighs dramatically. “Japanese guys are such delicate flowe--”

Blushing, Yuuri slaps his hands over his mouth. “I meant  _ words, _ you…” Victor laughs, muffled against his hands. Fear and exhilaration sweep through him again at this unknown quantity, this darkened landscape that can only be revealed with hands and lips and ears pricked for every shift in Victor’s breath. He gathers him close again, kissing Victor’s jaw.

Victor turns his head to catch his lips, frozen flame licking into his mouth and burning through his tentativeness and Yuuri cries out when he slips away into the pool. But Victor is all smiling focus, grabbing his hips and urging him up. Yuuri scrambles to his knees, flushed and shy and unsure what his intent is.

“Up. Out.” There’s urgency in Victor’s direction, but he grabs Yuuri’s ass like he’s in no particular hurry. “Lemme show you what I like.”

Heat climbs down from his face, a delicious shiver starting at the base of his spine. His head is spinning and now he’s not moving fast enough for Victor, who grapples him up, pushing him onto the edge of the pool. It’s cold under his ass but Victor kicks forward, shouldering his knees wider apart and warm, so warm against his inner thighs, and all he has time for is a gulped breath before lips close around his dick.

Almost instantly Victor pulls back, though. “You’re so quiet. Is it a Japanese thing?”

“No! It’s just… We were supposed to be sneaking!”

Victor snickers, looking up at him with a wink. “Are there windows on this side?” Before he can answer, he’s sliding close again, hands stroking up the outside of his thighs. “Not asking for an opera performance, here, I just,” he brushes his lips down the shaft, nuzzling against Yuuri’s skin, “wanna know what you like.” He draws back enough to meet Yuuri’s eyes. “I want to know everything. Every face you make, every sound, every taste, every part of your body, I want to know it intimately.”

Suddenly Yuuri’s glad for his blurred vision because he’s already feeling lightheaded and he’s pretty sure he’d pass out if he could see Victor’s expression better. Might pass out anyway, with Victor pressing a thumb just under the head of his dick and feathering kisses down the underside.

Yuuri can’t seem to look away as Victor takes his erection between his lips, this gorgeous dream of a man who he’s pictured like this more times than he’d like to admit but it pales, it pales in comparison to the reality, to the heat of him around his dick and against his thighs and pressing a hand up his back and then dragging it down to squeeze his ass.

Haltingly, he brushes Victor’s hair off his forehead. Victor releases a murmur of sound, leaning into his touch, and Yuuri repeats the motion, his own mouth falling open on a soft pant. He can feel Victor’s eyes on him again, and it still leaves him blushing and maybe it always will, but he doesn’t let it stop him from tugging him down on his cock. Victor puffs out a breath, one hand curling around his dick as he slides back, jacking him off slow as he tongues around the head. Yuuri lets his hand drop, thumb and finger fitting against the angle of Victor’s jaw and then slipping down to caress his neck.

Victor’s hand isn’t on his ass anymore and he misses the contact until he notices the ripple of motion in the water, the tension in his shoulder under his fingers, the satisfied groan that vibrates against his skin and leaves him catching his breath. He leans back on one hand, rocking his hips forward crisply. He could draw this out more, but some childish part of him wants the instant gratification. And anyway, hasn’t he been waiting long enough?

With a gasp and a splash, Victor pushes up on his knees. Yuuri tugs on him, wrapping his calves around the back of his thighs, and Victor falls against him with a groan. There’s a confusion of fingers between them and Victor fucking against his hip until he gets a proper grip on him and his lips, his lips just under Yuuri’s jaw and then smearing across to his own. He kisses back feverishly in between rough pants and the stars spinning far above him and this beautiful man cupping his cheek with desire and admiration written clear enough on his shadowed features even for him to read.

Yuuri gasps something that could be a prayer or a plea and comes into Victor’s fist. Victor kisses him through it, murmuring some incomprehensible encouragement in his native tongue in between the messy press of lips and then hissing out what sounds like a curse, his hips shuddering forward and come thick between Yuuri’s fingers.

He has the passing thought  _ I’m never washing this hand again _ before he lets himself slip into the warm, heavy haze and Victor moving fitfully against him and his own body still riding it out and the night singing softly around them.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> y'know I could rationalise why victor's urgently looking for yuuri at night but that's not what any of us are here for
> 
> (voyeurism warn)

“Yuuri!”

Victor pushes through the doors into the arena, but it’s dark and conspicuously empty.

Yuuko cracks the door open behind him. “Ah, looks like he finished up in here. He mentioned something about the gym...”

“Hmm. I’ll go find him, then.”

Yuuko yawns loudly. “Tell him to lock up when you guys leave. I’m going home.”

Turning sharply, Victor winks at her, the effect of which is possibly lost in the dim light. Also since she has turned away. “Sure thing!”

He returns her sleepy goodnight and picks his way around the rink, heading for the gym. It’s deserted as well, but closer now, he can hear the sound of water. He turns his steps to the changerooms.

There’s a single bank of lights on, Yuuri’s bag sitting on a bench. Victor eyes it curiously, but passes through quickly. He’s not consciously trying to sneak. But his steps are light, and the impulse to call out withers on his tongue long before he reaches the last corner and peeks around it.

The showers are small, and though they’re western-style, they’re situated a little too short for Victor’s liking. Almost too low for Yuuri, who stands with the water hitting him square in the chest, his hands loosely over his mouth. One side of the room is lit, almost giving it the appearance of a stage.

Victor watches him for a moment, then turns to leave.

Then stops.

There was something unguarded in Yuuri’s form, something that only seems to come out when he’s performing, that moment when a person is so ultimately alone. Victor has the passing thought that he wishes he could see his face instead of just his back.

One eyebrow quirking up, he turns back.

Yuuri faces out now, though his eyes are mercifully closed; Victor has no illusions that the shadows give him more than cursory cover. But perhaps that’s part of why he lingers here, is the thought of Yuuri opening his eyes to find he’s been watched. To see the way he’d flush and stammer like they haven’t been naked together many times in the short while he’s been here. The corners of Victor’s mouth twitch up.

Yuuri tips his head back under the spray, wetting his hair with a pleased sigh. His throat is a stretch of light and shadow and the shine of water and the shift of his pecs as he drags both hands back through his short hair. Unabashed, Victor lets his gaze slip lower, over his soft stomach and hips to his thighs, soft too but with power there to be worked and refined. Something warm and dark settles in Victor’s stomach, something he’d felt a touch of when he’d first seen the video, something that grabbed him tight when Yuuri skated Eros.

Another man might lie to himself about why he’d dropped all his commitments and come to this town, and certainly if asked, Victor has plenty of wholesome, respectable reasons. But he’s not afraid to admit the attraction he feels, a warm fresh breeze flowing through him and stirring what had become heavy and dull. Keeping him here watching hungrily.

_ This is it, this feeling is the inspiration I needed. _

Yuuri turns again, scrubbing half-heartedly at his arms, clearly lingering in the heat. There’s no artifice in his movements here, but a seduction nonetheless, slow shift of his hips showing off the curve of his ass and the slim line of his back. One foot trailing behind in the rivulet of water rushing to the drain and then skimming into a more solid position, the quirk of a shoulder as he stretches.

An odd pause, almost as if Yuuri were listening for something. Victor breathes lightly through his mouth, eyes dragging up the plushness of Yuuri’s calves and thighs, back up to his ass, imagining the feel of it under his hands or with his body pressed up against his back.

With a guilty noise, Yuuri drops a hand to his crotch, and Victor’s light breeze becomes a heavy rush of blood.

_ You were holding out on us. Tonkatsu, my ass. _

Carefully, carefully, Victor releases a breath, drinking in the sight. Yuuri’s free palm resting on the tiles, his head tipped down and the movement of his wrist exquisite in its leisure. Victor can almost feel it, the softness of Yuuri’s skin and the delicious pulse under his fingertips, each tiny muscular twitch and shiver. Feel his ribcage expand quick on that noisy breath and his dick become thick and hard and the angle of Yuuri’s strokes is changed now, he’s tugging up but slow still, gentle on skin that is still warming.

Victor’s hand steals down, resting heavy on the waistband of his pants. It’s a terrible idea, better to carry this image back to his own bed where he can savour it properly, but god, the temptation is strong. And more, more, the urge to cross the tiles and shed his clothing and kiss the nape of Yuuri’s neck and lose himself in his pleasure, in the beautiful way he hides his face against his arm, his hand now curled in a fist against the wall. But Victor holds himself still, like a photographer afraid of disturbing the natural beauty of the scene before him.

Abruptly, Yuuri turns, flopping back against the wall with a tight exhale. Victor freezes, eyes widening, but Yuuri’s own eyes are closed, dark brush stroke of lashes and his face awash with all that sweetness and want that he’s only ever seen shine through on the ice.

Not moving is exquisite agony, not joining Yuuri in that uneven plunge toward ecstasy. Not yet, it’s not yet, because Victor has never doubted his ability to reach his goals and this is no different. It is only a matter of time before he can drink in Yuuri’s faces from up close, feel the leap of his body under his own hands and his breath hot up Victor’s throat.

_ I’m gonna ride you until you can’t remember your own name. _

Yuuri breathes hard now, face drawn into a frown as he chases some private perfection of sweaty bodies and frenzied movement. His lip catches between his teeth, bursting open on a voiceless gasp. The water falls in front of him like some demure and inadequate veil, striking one shin to break apart into a jewelled chaos at his feet and Victor is enraptured, overcome, and so desperately in need of release, at least, at least Yuuri’s. Every fibre of his being shivers and strives for that peak with him, his fist clenched on the front of his pants just shy of full sensation. His lips are dry from the rush of his breath and heavy with the absence of another’s mouth, and god, Yuuri’s fall open like they feel that same ache.

Yuuri chokes out a cry, and as suddenly as it started, it’s over, thin ropes of come devoured by the shimmer of water and his face a vision of bliss that begs to be kissed over and over.

But Victor cannot linger to adore it, is stealing back around the bend to the changeroom and out, out, until the spring night can cool him. But here, still, the air pierces through him until he can’t help but laugh, and the sound tastes sweet and heady.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> idk how to write any of these nerds but im gonna keep hammerin at it bc I got Big Plans


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> more victuuri, set at the beginning of ep. 6 because I could not resist which also means warning for more drunk sex
> 
> im itchin to write some rarepair content buT THESE TWO. I FEEL PERSONALLY ATTACKED. ON A WEEKLY BASIS.

Victor falls into the cab like the arms of a lover, one who smelled strongly of stale smoke and something spicy and fried and involved bashing his nose into Yuuri’s shoulder and somewhere along the line, he’s lost the metaphor entirely but who gives a fuck. Not with the heat of Yuuri’s body against his chest, not with Yuuri’s eyes flicking open so wide and no breath between them.

Yuuri seems to shake himself, leaning around Victor to peer out the open car door. “Phichit? You…”

“Ah, sure!”

Victor suppresses a grimace; not that he doesn’t enjoy the guy’s company, but right now, it feels like an unwelcome chaperone.

“Phichit!” Guang-Hong’s urgent treble rings out like the voice of an angel, accompanied by a significantly less angelic noise from Celestino.

Phichit winces, glancing over his shoulder, then dips down to wave apologetically. “I better help get Ciao Ciao back safe…”

Yuuri starts to say something friendly but Victor interposes himself between them. “Okay, great! Have fun!” He lunges across the seat before any more cultural politeness can happen, calling an aggressively cheery, “Goodnight!” before pulling the door firmly closed. He hiccups out a laugh, guilty and delighted all at once and turning back to Yuuri who honestly looks a little relieved and so goddamn _kissable_ and Victor’s having a seriously hard time coming up with any reason not to.

The driver calls a query back at them in heavily accented English, startling them both.

“Ah, sorry, sorry!” Yuuri’s hands scatter the streetlight as they wave, and Victor wants so badly to capture them, hold those broken shards of light and dark and warmth between his own fingers and press them to his lips and between and Yuuri’s still talking, stuttering a little before reaching into an inside pocket and pulling out a business card with their hotel’s logo on it. “We’re staying here…”

“Mm.” The man glances at it and then faces forward, pulling immediately into traffic.

Just like that, he disappears from Victor’s mind. He paws at Yuuri’s jacket, slipping two fingers into the pocket. “What else you keeping in there?”

“Nothing!” Yuuri seems unreasonably flustered and Victor _loves_ it, drinks it in like the sweet liqueur he’d stolen a mouthful of from Yuuri’s glass earlier, something meant for savouring and god, how he’d savoured it and holding Yuuri’s eyes as the rim touched his lips and light fire ran down his throat.

“You put my clothes back on.” Somewhere between confirmation and accusation, and Yuuri’s flush visible in the flash of streetlights and glowing windows.

“Uh…I thought it was perhaps a good idea.”

Sometimes it’s hard to tell whether Yuuri’s making some weird stiff joke at his expense, but presently, Victor’s in a forgiving mood. “I liked it.”

A sharp inhale, barely audible under the hum of the engine and the croon of some pop song, but he’s keyed to it, it seems to brush up his spine to the nape of his neck and stand every hair on end. Victor releases his own breath heavy and his hand slipping from the lapel of Yuuri’s jacket to press against his chest and he can _feel_ each leap of his heart. Victor presses closer, bridge of his nose against the line of Yuuri’s jaw and lips so close to another pulse point and Yuuri shivering against him so beautifully.

And the cabbie clearing his throat irritably and rattling out a sum in the now parked car.

Victor snaps out his wallet, grabbing a likely-looking bill and shoving it between the seats. A hand closes around his wrist, Yuuri clucking chidingly at him and tugging the bill from his fingers. Victor’s ready to slap Yuuri’s money away but he just rifles through Victor’s wallet for a different bill. He snorts out a laugh, still giggling when Yuuri hauls him out of the cab and towards the hotel.

The elevator doors can’t open soon enough and then he’s throwing himself through with one hand catching on Yuuri’s coat and crashing against the far wall, and Yuuri, Yuuri following, a collision of shoulders and breath and feet and he bangs his head back against the wall as the doors slide closed like he’s already trying to throw off the coils of ecstasy and god, tonight, _tonight, please let tonight finally take us there_.

“Victor…” Yuuri’s temple presses against his jaw, as if he were trying to push himself upright with just that, the arm of his glasses digging into his skin. He turns against that contact, inhaling the scent of Yuuri’s hair.

“What would you do?”

“Eh?” Yuuri’s head bonks against his cheek but he can only laugh at the glancing pain.

“If I took my clothes off again. What would you do?” He slips his thumbs under the open front of Yuuri’s jacket, pushing the plush fabric back. “Put them back again?” His skin is alive with the memory of Yuuri’s hands, hurried, embarrassed, yes, but with a furtive, guilty lingering, pads of fingers pressing into his hips and knuckles brushing down his lats, fussing with the hem of his shirt.

“No…” Yuuri seems to realise what he’s said a second after the word leaves his mouth, turning a spectacular shade of red and swaying back unsteadily.

Victor clenches a firmer hold on his jacket. “What, you’d leave me to freeze?” He smirks, pushing it open wider. “What about...if I took off yours?”

Expression flashes on Yuuri’s face, blushing surprise and uncertainty and Victor wants to _shake_ him because how much more obvious can he get, and yet he can’t fault him when he feels that same nervous wave of _are you really like me?_

_Is the one who sets me alight truly caught in this same shattering happiness and ache?_

Yuuri looks like he might say something and Victor holds his breath, only his hands shifting slightly, balls of his thumbs pressing against Yuuri’s chest.

The doors slide open behind him.

_This is it, this is when we decide whether it’s another night with my dick in my hand in the shower, or--_

Yuuri lurches back, but not pulling away, no, not with Victor’s sweater clutched tight in his hands. “Why don’t you find out?”

Victor lets himself be pulled forward with a laugh, stumbling and pushing Yuuri across the hall and up against the wall and he’ll feel apologetic for the crash later, later when he can think about anything other than Yuuri’s hands inside his coat and his hard-on against his thigh.

“Shit…” His voice cracks and Yuuri gasps and Victor wants more, more, stepping in between his feet and grabbing his thigh to haul it up, up, the softness of Yuuri’s body finally wrapping around him. Foreheads, noses crushed close and Yuuri’s glasses knocked askew and in the way and Victor laughs again, laughs in triumph and wonder and sheer joy and falling to something throatier that is just about want.

“...look at...me…”

“Wha…?” Their lips brush and now, now, he can’t get enough of this teasing, now that it seems it will finally, finally be satisfied.

“If you...stripped me.” Yuuri tilts his head back, starting to pull off his smudged glasses, then stopping, righting them. “I want you to look at me. Only me.”

Victor catches his breath and his lip between his teeth and releases Yuuri’s leg to reach up, gingerly, gingerly take hold of his glasses and slip them off his face.

“How could I ever look away?”

Yuuri’s breath hitches and his lips are parted and he can’t resist any longer, catches his lips hungrily. It’s like a promise finally made good on, one he’s made with his eyes and body and his mouth over and over, and this one, he’s remembered, this one, he’s kept, this one echoes down his limbs and in his dick and in the hand still dangling Yuuri’s glasses and the other one buried in his hair.

Yuuri kisses back with the uncertain enthusiasm of a novice. Up until now, he hadn’t quite believed his embarrassed evasions, but Victor can feel the truth of it now in his lips, in his hands not sure where to go, not sure what’s allowed. Tenderness comes over him.

_I’m gonna make this good for you._

_And I’m going to ruin you for anyone else._

Corners of his lips curling, he presses into the yield of Yuuri’s body, sliding his lips down, down under Yuuri’s jaw, meandering up to take his earlobe between his lips.

“Vi...Victor…” Yuuri still can’t decide where to place his hands, dropping to grab at the waistband of Victor’s jeans and then fleeing, but returning, returning to push up his ribs, catch on the thick material of his sweater. “We’re still… Someone’s gonna come…”

He chokes on a laugh but Yuuri’s right. “C’mon, then.” Their fingers lace together clumsily and he laughs again as he hauls Yuuri along behind him until they crash into his door, Yuuri’s arms curling around his stomach and fuck, his dick against his ass, his face shoved against his shoulder and Victor wants to see what face he’s making, wants so badly and the door is a rude obstacle and then it’s swinging in. He crows triumph and drags Yuuri with him far enough for it to close before turning in his arms.

Yuuri startles, arms tightening, and Victor cups his face, walking backwards, slapping on the lights above the bed as they pass. While they’re kicking off shoes, he wonders briefly where the glasses went but lets the thought drop away as the bed hits the back of his legs. He flops down, smiling up at Yuuri, who stands unbalanced still with his arms out as if caught in the middle of a dance.

“Well?” he says before remembering he was the one supposed to act. He sits up straighter, reaching out slowly to place his hands on Yuuri’s hips.

_How often have you imagined this moment? Your friends spilled about the posters. How many times did you touch yourself, too ashamed to look at them full-on?_

_But not anymore._

Now, Yuuri meets his eyes steadily, his colour high and his body full of nervous energy but open, ready, irresistible. Victor slides his hands up, up, to splay on his shoulders and push his jacket back, down, down to slip to the floor in a graceless heap but he pays no mind, looks only at Yuuri, at his bare arms and the eager lean of his body and his expression, one Victor had seen only on the ice, only with safe distance between them, but no longer. Now, so close and closer still when he tugs on him, pulls him down into his lap with a gust of breath.

Victor grabs his hips, pulling him close, then slips fingertips under his shirt, scraping up his skin as he lifts the fabric. Yuuri raises his arms, body caught in a gorgeous arch and knees squeezing around him as he tries to keep his balance, and no sooner is Victor pulling the shirt down his arms than he’s dipping in to kiss his shoulder, his chest, catching Yuuri’s hands in the fabric to hold him just like that as he tastes his skin.

Yuuri pulls free, dropping his hands to Victor’s shoulders and pulling on his coat. Victor struggles out of it and the jacket underneath, tossing them to the floor, then leans back on his palms, knowing the way it will highlight the topography of his chest and shoulders. He lets his own eyes drag down to where their erections are so close, then back up to savour Yuuri’s blush spreading down his neck. He moves to kiss him again but Yuuri grabs his sweater, pulling insistently, and how can he do anything but oblige? As soon as it’s gone, he wraps his arms around Yuuri, chest-to-chest and Yuuri’s breath shuddering out of him and his hands grasping at Victor’s upper arms and his lips, his lips so sweet.

Victor sways back, then changes his mind, swinging Yuuri over to the bed. They land in a mess of elbows and noses and his legs twisted awkwardly and when he hauls himself into a better position, the weight of his body pressing their cocks together and Yuuri opening his mouth on a swallowed cry and Victor devours it, catching Yuuri’s lip between his teeth as he rocks his hips against him.

“Yuuri, what do you like?”

Yuuri wraps his arms around his shoulders, tucking his face against his neck. “I don’t know…”

Laughter sputters out of him. “How can you not know?” His palm grazes down Yuuri’s side, down to grab at his hip and then push his thumb under the waistband of his jeans.

“It’s not like I…! Don’t be so mean…”

Victor pushes up on one elbow. “I’m not being mean! I just can’t believe you don’t even have any _idea_ what you wan--”

Yuuri cups his face, pulling him back down so their foreheads bang together. “Everything. I want everything.”

“That’s a lot of things.” He kisses the edge of Yuuri’s mouth lightly, working his fingers down the side of his pants.

“I know. It might take us a while.”

When he pulls back, Yuuri’s eyes are focused on him with an intense seriousness, a weight and a question behind the words that part of him shies away from. But part of him sinks into it, bathes in it, luxuriates in the possibilities it affords. Things that had felt far off and out of reach, too impossible to even entertain while he was the one in the centre of the spotlight. And too much to absorb in full right now, too much when all his body cries out to see Yuuri gripped in that exquisite rapture, and all, all at his own hands.

He smiles gently, wriggling his hand free of Yuuri’s pants to caress his cheek, brush back his hair. “Let it. We can take as long as we like.”

He thinks for a second that Yuuri might burst into tears, but before he can respond, he pulls him down into a kiss instead.

_What am I to you?_

_You are a spark set alight in my chest, a burst of colour across my eyelids, a hint of amber spice on my tongue that I was helpless not to follow. But I have been something so much larger to you, and for so long._

“Let me show you what _I_ like.” He rolls to the side, pulling Yuuri with him but urging him down. He can feel the way he tenses, clinging tighter, so he tips his face up so their eyes meet. “Nothing you’re not ready for. Just touch me.”

Lightly, he takes Yuuri’s wrist, bringing his hand around to press against his ribs, push up. He nudges one knee up between his thighs, sighing happily when Yuuri shifts to curl his leg around the back of his calf, squeezing to grind against him. Yuuri nuzzles against his chest with a soft noise, his left hand slipping down from Victor’s neck.

“That’s good, Yuuri, that’s good.” He pulls Yuuri’s hand higher, guiding it so his index and middle finger slot either side of his nipple. “Yuuri...use your mouth.”

Yuuri stutters in a breath and then opens his lips against his skin, a blossom of wet warmth. His fingers twitch, squeeze uncertainly then relax, his palm pressing into his pec. Victor tilts his head down, watching the arch of Yuuri’s brows and the way their skin smushes together and the red flash of his lips as he looks up, and god, so beautiful, so beautiful, and Victor cups his jaw, thumb squashing against his upper lip and scraping his teeth.

“Use these. Don’t be afraid.”

“I’m not.” Yuuri’s tongue flicks out, swiping up his thumb and making him gasp in surprise. And shiver at the thought of Yuuri sucking him off, at the thought of guiding him through it with fingers laced in his hair and words streaming out of him until he lost all coherence.

_What surprises will you have for me?_

Which is when Yuuri wedges his hand down between them and squeezes his dick against his tensed thigh. His hips twitch back, another gasp torn from him. Emboldened, Yuuri scrapes teeth over his pec, pinching for a brief moment before pressing a plush kiss to his skin. Over and over and over the curve of the muscle to gently, gently take his nipple between his lips. Yuuri releases a sigh, nose squashed against his skin and his hand slipping up the edge of his pec and then back down to squeeze it. His mouth opens wider, then closes agonisingly slow, teeth on his skin and then catching his nipple delicately. Victor rolls his hips, fucking against Yuuri’s palm as a low groan rises out of him. He pushes his fingers down Yuuri’s spine, his other hand carding back through his hair. Yuuri leans into the touch, sucking at his skin, his breath rushing out through his nose.

Hungrily, Victor urges him over, twisting until his shoulderblade nearly touches the bed so Yuuri can catch his right nipple between his teeth, his palm rubbing heavily over the left. The hand on his dick squeezes and presses at random, Yuuri’s attention obviously on his chest. Victor’s too, his crotch a low bass hum to the sweet sharp notes of Yuuri’s lips and the swipe of his tongue.

“Yuuri…” Just as he’d intended, he looks up, face a gorgeous haze of arousal. Victor cups his cheek, tugging up on his arm until he comes close enough to kiss. Yuuri slides up on his thigh, and Victor drops his hand quickly to squeeze his ass, drag him closer. His mouth falls open on a rough noise, louder than anything Victor’s heard from him so far and intoxicating enough that he nearly keeps him there but he’s greedy, so greedy, and he pushes him back down.

Yuuri goes willingly this time, dotting a hot line down, down, and it’s Victor’s turn to breathe out a raw, honest sound as Yuuri presses him back on the bed. But he stops with his face shoved against his stomach, his ribs expanding unevenly and pressing against his crotch and Victor’s body rolls luxuriantly, his head tipping back. Yuuri pushes himself up, and Victor makes the mistake of looking down full-on into that adoration.

He’s used to it, or he thought he was, been aware of the effect he had on others for as long as he can remember. But this is different. This is worship. And not the terrified awe of their first meetings, this is something more equal and Yuuri weaving up onto his knees and shucking out of his pants and then kneeling above him in all his own beauty. A god to a god, even if one of them doesn’t fully know it yet. And yet somewhere in him, Yuuri’s realising it and it’s fire in Victor’s veins, pushing him up to curl his arms around him, plant a kiss of his own on Yuuri’s chest and then grin up at him, one hand stealing down to caress his cock. Yuuri follows the motion with a soft roll of his hips and he can’t resist stroking him again, just to feel him slowly, slowly fuck into his fist.

_What music will your body make when you fuck me?_

He shivers, kissing Yuuri’s skin over and over and then falling back on the bed with a sigh, hand still lazily feeling the thickness of him and the pad of his thumb rolling under the head to see the way he flinches. Yuuri drops forward with a rough pant, his hands heavy either side of his waist. Holding his eyes, Victor unbuttons his jeans, starting to push them down. Yuuri glances down with evident interest, then curves over him to kiss his stomach; Victor leaves his pants to cup his face, urge him higher, but Yuuri resists his pull. Victor’s eyes widen and, smiling, he returns to wriggling out of his jeans.

Lips, teeth, on the perimeters of his ribs and hips, and all the more appealing in its lack of artifice, this devotion. But nothing chaste in it, Yuuri’s hips twitching as he sucks a welt just beside his left hip and then stares down at it as if he hadn’t expected it to work before falling upon him again. Having got his jeans as far off as he can without them moving, Victor cards his hands back through Yuuri’s hair, urging him up again. This time, Yuuri turns quickly to kiss the inside of his wrist but then surges up, up to tuck one arm under Victor’s shoulder and take his nipple in his mouth again.

His stomach is beautifully yielding, perfect to fuck against so Victor does, tilting his head back again with his own mounting pleasure pealing off his lips. He gathers Yuuri against him with absent urgency, clenching one hand in his hair and the other snatching his hand up to press against his pec. Yuuri’s fingertips brush in delicate traceries before pinching, rolling his nipple, and it’s perfection, it’s excruciating, and the heat of Yuuri’s scalp against his fingers and the sweaty slide and catch of their skin and--

Sensation ripped away, Yuuri pulling out of his hands, but before he can truly feel the lack, he’s dropping down between his legs and his mouth on his dick and _fuck_. It’s artless, guileless, and sending him rocketing over the edge with a spatter of curses in his mother tongue and grabbing for Yuuri, his Yuuri, Somehow he’s the one clinging tight so euphoria doesn’t wash him away, he’s the one at the mercy of fingertips and a mobile tongue and Yuuri’s own startled choke of sound, the jerk of his body that makes Victor desperate to get his hands back on him, to drag him into this same perfection.

Before he’s ready, Yuuri flings himself up, slapping a hand over his mouth as if he only just realised what he’d done. Victor pushes himself up on an elbow with a laugh, but he’s arrested by the sight of him, by the deep red of his face and heaving chest, by his erection angling up and bobbing slightly with his breath, by the flash of tongue over a lip smudged with creamy white.

Victor sits up enough to grab him by the back of the neck and pull him in for a kiss, a fury of heat in it he hadn’t thought he still had in him. And Yuuri, Yuuri, with his mouth opening on a cry that he tries to stifle against Victor’s skin, with his dick a gorgeous weight against his palm, with his arms twined around Victor’s shoulders like he’s the only definite thing in his world. Victor pumps him relentlessly, trying to catch sight of him but then burying his face against his neck, kissing and kissing and then teeth and it’ll leave a mark and the collar isn’t _that_ high on the short program costume and the thought of Yuuri on the ice with his costume, with the red bloom of his teeth on his throat, it twists residual arousal low in his gut. Yuuri’s breath comes ragged, his body moving to the rhythm Victor sets for him and his head flung back and Victor lifts his heavy head to watch him, because he can’t, he can’t look away from this, murmurs his own reverent worship and watches as Yuuri’s eyes squeeze shut, his mouth open but soundless and stickiness on his fingers and his stomach and spreading warm through his chest.

* * *

[12:10am]  
[Phichit: Yuuri!! I found your glasses on the floor?]  
[knocked on your door but I guess you’re already asleep]  
[anyway I’ll have them for you in the morning!]  
[we should go eat all together again after! that was really fun!]

[Read 12:13am]

[Phichit: oh! you ARE awake!]

[ _Yuuri is typing..._ ]  
[ _Yuuri is typing.._.]

  
[ _Yuuri is typing.._.]

[12:18am]  
[Phichit: Yuuri you okay?]

[Yuuri: yeah I’m fine!]

[Phichit: you want me to bring them to you now? :D]

[Yuuri: uh]  
[maybe in the morning?]

[Phichit: okay! you sure you’re alright?]  
[you didn’t have that much to drink, did you?]

[Yuuri: hello this is victor pls return all valuables in the morning right now yuuri is occupied with round two]

[Phichit: lmao what]  
[WHAT]  
[yuuri so help me im posting those photos if you don’t spill]


End file.
